Friday, 24 October 2014
I haven't touched a conker or turned my face towards the wind.
I haven't baked a crumble or remarked on how the nights are drawing in.
I have forgotten the richest and most dishevelled of seasons.
Paid little attention to fallen leaf and heavy cloud.
But have written under light of bureau lamp.
Have sat at table, helped her read first words.
Have planted pansies in pots, verdant heather in borders.
Have had silver birch cut back, harvested tomatoes.
Have visited showrooms, poured through kitchen catalogues.
Have wheezed with asthma, upgraded inhaler.
Have made new friends at school date, kept in touch with old.
Have forgotten hair dye, bought her new clothes.
Have felt lost, bereft, adjusting to new routines.
Have worried and worried about this here blog.
Have lacked the inspiration, ideas for posts...
...like a gust of air released a kite from handheld grasp,
and earth under foot turned to mud.
Maybe I am unknowingly taking stock?
Maybe I have run out of stories?
Maybe I need a different approach?
Or maybe I simply need to devote my time to where my energy now flows?